Where the Tigris flows and the palm tree blows,
Where you see the golden domes of Arab shrines,
Where the Sheik reclines in the Caliph’s olden homes,
There in old Baghdad, a romantic lad,
At the close of each long day;
‘Neath the window there, of his lady fair,
and he’d softly sing this lay. Oh, how I

CHORUS:
Love you, my Arabian maid,
I’m singing of you and serenade,
Like stars above you in the eastern skies,
My love for you is a glist’ning,
Say you are list’ning, dear.
My heart is burning, let me hold you near,
My arms are yearning to enfold you dear
A thousand nights dreaming of you,
A thousand years, I will love you,
You are my own Arabian maid.